


Falling Into Grace

by lentezon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Asexual Castiel, Bullying, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Prostitute Dean, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:52:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lentezon/pseuds/lentezon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a human turns five years of age, they receive a Guardian Angel: a presence to help them navigate the world. Unless one throws aside this presence and commits the gravest of crimes, an Angel will stay with them until they die.</p><p>Dean Winchester has never had a Guardian Angel, and it's not making life easy for him. He doesn't need his angry father or people punching him in the face to tell him he's screwed up, and he sure as hell doesn't need an Angel just so they can desert him like they did his mother.</p><p>Enter his childhood friend, Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Into Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, I have finished a fic again! I'm embarrassingly excited about this.
> 
> Huge huge thank you to [Gretchen](http://sweetnessnarose.tumblr.com) for the awesome fanart--check it out on [Tumblr](http://sweetnessnarose.tumblr.com/post/144514130170/my-art-for-the-lovely-lentezon) and [DA](http://sweetnessnarose.deviantart.com/art/Ace-SPN-Mini-Bang-2016-609582437)! ♥ Also, many thanks to [Laura](http://compassionatedragon.tumblr.com) for looking over this fic and getting rid of some inconsistencies for me! 
> 
> Additional warning: Dean is a sex worker, Alastair is a client--this part of Dean's life is not pretty.
> 
> This fic is part of the [Ace SPN Minibang](http://acespnminibang.tumblr.com) 2016

** 01. **

   The first time Dean meets Castiel, they’re four years old and he’s telling everyone who wants to listen about his new baby brother called Sam. But all the grownups think he’s ‘cute’ (which he isn’t, Sammy is, because cute is what you call babies and Dean isn’t a baby anymore) and it’s annoying. Castiel, on the other hand, seems genuinely interested, so Dean takes him inside to take a look at the baby gurgling in his crib.

   Sam’s big round eyes focus on Castiel right away.

   “Hello, Sam,” says Castiel gravely.

   “You don’t have to be so serious, he’s just a baby. He doesn’t understand anything you say anyway,” Dean explains seriously. “If he likes you, he’ll grab your finger. Like this.”

   He offers his pinkie finger to Sam and the baby grabs it right away, hardly even looking at it. He’s still apparently more interested in the new person staring at him. “You try,” says Dean.

   Castiel offers his finger in the same manner as Dean had. Sam the baby releases his brother in favour of this strange guy right away. “He has quite a strong grip for such a small human,” Castiel observes.

   It’s at that moment that a blonde woman enters the nursery, smiling at them. “Dean, you should leave your brother alone sometimes. Sammy needs a lot of sleep still, you know that.”

   “Babies have it so easy,” Dean says with a long-suffering sigh. “All they have to do is eat and sleep all day.”

   “Yes,” his mother says, eyes glistering with amusement. “It must be so hard being you, Dean, all grown up already.”

   Dean looks pleased with himself. Castiel has the decency not to laugh.

   Mary invites Castiel to stay for dinner and they have burgers for the occasion, and Dean never stops talking about Sammy and how he’s going to look out for him until he gets his own Guardian, and Castiel just nods and smiles because Dean’s enthusiasm is contagious.

   Dean declares Castiel his best friend that day, and although it’s probably because Dean’s only other friend is a two-year-old neighbouring kid called Jo, Castiel is still pleased.

 

** 02. **

   It doesn’t take long before Dean and Castiel are practically attached at the hip.

   One can find Castiel at the Winchesters’ nearly every day. Mary thinks they’re adorable. John just rolls his eyes at her. She pretends not to notice.

   Dean will be turning five in a few months. He’s increasingly excited about it—excited and nervous, although Dean pretends he isn’t, because he’s a big boy and big boys don’t get nervous, no matter how often their mother tells them it’s perfectly alright. Cas doesn’t seem all that nervous, either, although his birthday isn’t until springtime.

   But even if Cas doesn’t appear all that interested in his birthday, Dean needs to talk about it.

   “I can’t wait to meet my Angel,” Dean says happily. It’s still a while before he’ll turn five, but that doesn’t stop him from talking about it. “Are you curious? What they’ll be like?”

   “Of course,” Castiel says, slightly unconvincingly.

   “I hope she’ll be like Mom,” Dean admits. He always seems to say dumb things like that to Cas, though the other boy doesn’t seem to mind. He wants someone who reminds him of Mary, because she’s the greatest person he knows. Cas seems to get that.

   “Maybe it’s a he,” Cas points out.

   “Nah,” says Dean. “It’s a girl. I just know it.”

   Cas doesn’t say anything.

 

** 03. **

   His dad is panicking, shaking Dean awake with a force Dean isn’t used to. “Get up, Dean,” he says, and it sounds important, so that’s what the four-year-old does. “No time for shoes—you have to—”

   John Winchester looks like he isn’t sure what he was about to say, and instead rushes out of Dean’s room without explaining anything. Dean hurries after him, wondering what it is that is so important and why it is so warm in the hallway. It takes a moment to register the orange glow coming from Sammy’s room, a moment during which John bursts through the door carrying Sam. “Take your brother outside as fast as you can,” he says, eyes harried. “Go, Dean!”

   But there must be something wrong in his head, because all he can do is watch John disappear into that room again, that room with the fire, calling for Mary—

   And then there’s a hand on his arm, tugging. “Dean,” says a voice, and that sounds like Cas, but it can’t be, because Cas is at home sleeping, and he couldn’t have entered the house just like that. There’s people outside who wouldn’t have let him. He can hear the sirens of a fire truck now that he’s focusing on outside noises.

   “Dean,” the voice says again. “You have to move, Dean. Please.”

   _Take your brother outside as fast as you can._

   He finally turns around and the boy who’s been tugging at his arm looks like Cas as much as he sounds it, so maybe Dean’s imagining him. He’s right, though. Dean has to bring Sammy outside, because his little brother is only a baby and he can’t run for himself yet.

   He’s not quite sure how he ends up outside, except that he follows Cas blindly, but suddenly he’s feeling the cold of the November air and his bare feet are freezing on the damp grass, but he can see the fire from here. Sammy squirms where he’s bundled up in Dean’s arms, but all Dean can do is stare up with fearful eyes.

   Cas is a steady presence next to him as they wait for his parents to emerge from the house. The other boy doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t try to take Sammy from Dean, which Dean is grateful for. He knows his arms are only steady because he’s holding someone who’s more vulnerable than he is, and maybe the bundle in his arms is the only reason he’s not running back inside to find his dad even if two firemen have done exactly that by now.

   They re-emerge not much later, one of them holding up a coughing John and the other carrying Mary, and Dean knows instantly that something is very wrong. Someone puts a blanket around him and tries to lead him away, but Dean doesn’t budge.

   “How?” he whispers to Cas, who looks at him with big eyes and doesn’t seem to know what Dean is asking him. And then Dean adds, “Her Angel should have helped her.” He feels like his heart has been ripped into shreds, and it hurts. “Doesn’t a Guardian Angel mean you’ll be safer?”

   Cas doesn’t say anything.

   There’s tears filling Dean’s eyes now. “Where’s her Angel, Cas?” he asks. “They’re supposed to keep you safe!”

   “Dean…”

   But Dean is angry now, because what is the use of having a spirit bound to your soul, an Angel to be your Guardian, if it didn’t stop his mother from dying? “You know what? I don’t want an angel anymore.”

   Cas puts his hand over Dean’s, but looks away.

 

** 04. **

   Dean turns five that January, the age at which most people first meet their Guardian Angel. Dad visits them where Dean and little Sam are staying at Uncle Bobby’s (because he works odd jobs everywhere now), and he gets to pick what’s for dinner, but it’s not a good day because Mom’s apple pie is missing and it’s all Dean cares about.

   Sam is staring up at him from his blanket on the floor, and Dean feels the sudden urge to cry. Sammy is only a baby, he doesn’t have a Guardian Angel yet. All he has is Dean, and Dean hasn’t met any angels today either. He doesn’t care much. His Mom died in a fire, and he’d always known that bad things could still happen, but if her Angel couldn’t have saved her then Dean doesn’t want one to remind him of it.

   Uncle Bobby’s been sending him worried looks over the table. Dean can recognize them as such now. It’s because his birthday is almost over, and no angel has appeared to him. And the only reason people don’t have Guardians is because they have committed grave sins, but that is usually when they’re old enough do have done something that counts as such.

   Dean doesn’t care. Dad’s left again, and Mom’s in Heaven—maybe she’s his Guardian Angel, Dean thinks, and he likes that thought—and Cas isn’t here. He wishes that at least Cas were here.

 

** – Twelve years later **

   “You're doing it again.”

   “Am not.”

   Dean Winchester raises an eyebrow at his younger brother. “I'm fine, Sammy.”

   “It's Sam,” the other says, glaring through his bangs. “And you always say that.”

   “That's 'cause I always am.”

   It's a blatant lie and they both know it. Sam wants to say exactly that, tell his brother he's just worried for him, but he knows better than that. Dean doesn't appreciate talking about feelings. He says feelings are for girls. Sam, being the younger brother by four years, says Dean is an immature jerk.

   Either way, talk or no talk, Sam knows what the problem is. He still remembers being four and asking his brother where his Guardian Angel was, and how Dean pretended to be fine while he explained he didn't have one yet, but some people just had to wait a little longer than usual and that he was only eight, so there was still plenty of time.

   Sam thinks he might've said something about Dean's Angel having to be very special to make up for making him wait so long, and in return Dean had smiled ruefully but hadn't answered.

   Nearly eight years later Dean still doesn't have an Angel, and Sam still doesn't understand why. The only people who don't have angels are the ones who've committed severe crimes, and even they used to have one before they did those awful things. But Dean isn't a bad person—he did a great job of taking care of Sam while their father alternated between working his ass off to take care of them and drinking himself into oblivion. Sam doesn't love his brother any less for not having an angel of his own.

   What really breaks his heart, though, is that Dean never, not once, acted like he was surprised.

   “I just...” Sam sighs.

   “Don't, Sam.”

   And that's the end of it, since the last thing Sam wants is to fight with his brother over this—again. But Dean deserves an Angel too, dammit. Dean needs one, far more than most of them. He's had a difficult enough time without having to endure wary looks and vocal implications that he must be a terrible person to never have earned what everyone else has basically gotten a birth right to.

   He trudges up the stairs, defeated and a little frustrated. There has to be _something_ he can do.

   (He's probably talked to his own Angel about this at least a dozen times before, and the answer is no. No, however, has never stopped him from trying.)

   He sits down on the edge of his bed, slightly unsure about how he's supposed to do this, and bows his head for good measure. Here goes nothing.

   “Hello. Uhm. It's Sam Winchester. I don't know if you're listening, really. I mean, I guess that's what you put Angels on Earth for. But I think this is important, and that I should try anyway.” Sam takes a deep breath, feeling monumentally stupid but forcing himself on anyway. “It's my brother, Dean? He erm, he doesn't have a Guardian Angel. And I don't understand why, because Dean's a really good man, okay? I don't know anyone who would've given so much to raise their little brother.” Even though Sam did have his own Angel, Dean always made sure he was okay, that there was nothing Sam lacked. Sam thinks it's probably because his brother didn't trust Sam's Angel to do a good enough job, and who can blame him, really? “I don't want to be rude. You probably have done it for a reason, right? It's just that... I don't know anyone who deserves a Guardian Angel more than my brother, but if that's not possible for some reason, then... I dunno, give him some sort of sign that he's a good person and he shouldn't hate himself for this?” He huffs a laugh. “You should probably make it obvious, though. Dean's kinda hard-headed with these things.”

   Who he's really been talking to, he doesn't know either. Sam likes to believe there's a God, but while the Angels all around should be some sort of proof there is one, it does the exact opposite to him—it makes him wonder if indeed, as Dean once gruffly said, 'God has left the building'.

   He chooses to think not.

 

** 05. **

   They’re following him.

   Dean speeds up a little, hopefully not enough to let them know he’s aware of them, but enough to reach civilization before they reach him. (He’s not in any kind of abandoned place, really—he’s on his way to pick up Sam from middle school, and it requires a walk through a neighbourhood where no one seems to be around at this moment.)

   They wouldn’t hurt Sam. Sam has an Angel, like he's supposed to. Even if they want to hurt him, they shouldn’t be able to, although Dean has his doubts. He doesn’t have any kind of faith in Angels anymore.

   So he can’t lead them to Sam. He makes a turn left into a narrow alley, which probably isn’t a good idea at all, but it’s the only way off the path to the middle school. Dean can handle himself. He’d rather face Gordon and Kubrick than John Winchester when he thinks Dean’s put Sam in danger.

   “ _It’s not Sammy’s fault you don’t have an Angel, Dean, it’s your own.”_

   (He’s not thinking of that, though.)

   The footsteps are speeding up.

   “Where’s your Angel, Dean?” Kubrick calls out, and Dean can hear the mirth in his voice. He’s been asking this question a lot, and it’s never followed by anything pleasant. Dean ignores him. The insults are never original, but they’re true nonetheless, and the fact that he’s been hearing it all for years doesn’t make it hurt any less.

   The alley comes out opposite a mall. Dean’s fairly sure if he can make it there, he’s safe—for the time being. There’s always the possibility that people will think he’s deserved it, if he doesn’t have an Angel, but he’s willing to risk it. He thinks Gordon and Kubrick are aware of it, though, because it sounds like they’re coming at him a lot faster all of a sudden.

   He breaks into a run without thinking. He’s faster than them, he knows that much—it’s not the first time they’ve followed him, and he’s had lot more practice running from people than they are likely to have.

   He would’ve made it, too, had he not fucking tripped and fallen flat on his face.

   If there is a God, he hates Dean.

   They’re on him before he gets the chance to get up and make a dash for it. He’s fairly sure it’s Kubrick’s boot between his shoulder blades, pushing him back down onto the cold bricks. No one else is around but the three of them. If he looks up, he can actually see people pass the alley—if only they’d look this way—

   But no one does, because Dean doesn’t deserve to be rescued.

   Kubrick’s boot is digging into his back, crushing Dean’s chest against the cold stone beneath him. “You do know you deserve it, don’t you?” he asks, calmly, as though they’re chatting idly between the three of them rather than holding Dean forcefully down. “Even the Lord thinks you’re trash.”

   He could fight them, if he wanted to.

   _“You’re not even worthy enough for Angels.”_

He won’t, because they’re right.

   “Oh, let him up,” says Gordon, sounding bored. “I want to see him defend himself.”

   The pressure is lifted off Dean’s back. He stays down. He’s suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of disinterest. Let them do their worst. He can handle it. And if he can’t, well, it’s not like anybody’s going to miss him, his dad has made that abundantly clear over the years.

   “No,” a voice says, and that one’s new and sounds like the guy’s been choking on gravel not much earlier. “You won’t.”

   Dean’s assuming the new voice is talking about him defending himself, and a part he’s buried deep inside him flares up—the part that doesn’t like being told what to do. He’s far past the point of caring what happens to him, but that doesn’t mean he can let these dicks just do whatever they want without taking them down with him.

   He’s getting up just when Gordon says, “And who the hell are you?”

   “My name is Castiel.”

   Dean shoots upright so fast he actually knocks his head into Kubrick’s, whose reflexes shove Dean against a wall harshly. But shit, that’s him, that’s _Cas_ , standing straight as a rod and staring at Gordon with a look in his eyes that gives Dean goose bumps. Years later, but there is something about him that Dean recognizes right away, something other than the unusual name.

   “I suggest you leave,” says Cas, nearly emotionless.

   “You standing up for this trash?” Gordon snarls. “What are you, his boyfriend?” He narrows his eyes and laughs. “Maybe you’re right, Kubrick—maybe God does hate fags.”

   Kubrick snarls and presses his lower arm into Dean’s throat.

   “God is utterly indifferent to sexual orientation,” says Cas. “I will advise you again to leave.”

   “No,” says Gordon with a calculated look. “No, I don’t think so.”

   It’s stupid. Physically, Dean is quite sure Cas and him are at least an even match to Gordon and Kubrick. Dean’s bullies are older by a year or two, but Dean knows he’s stronger than he looks, and although he knows very little about Cas, going by the look in the guy’s eyes he would believe his childhood friend could handle a guy twice his size. And with Cas’ arrival, something has flared up inside of Dean, something that makes him willing to fight for his life at least one more time. He jerks up his knee right into Kubrick’s groin, as hard as he can. The blond nutcase lets go of Dean’s throat in surprise, leaving Dean to breathe in deeply and punch the other square in the nose.

   “Dean,” says Cas, properly looking at Dean for the first time since he’s arrived. His tone is warning.

   “Hell no,” snarls Dean. These guys would have beaten him within an inch of his life and, worse, he would have let them.

   “ _No_ ,” says Cas.

   They’re taking too long. The two older boys have gotten over their surprise by now, and _they_ have no qualms about violence. Dean is only just fast enough to block the blow aimed at his jaw. He grips Kubrick’s lower right arm instead and twists it painfully. “Don’t. Touch me.”

   “Yeah,” Gordon says in a strange voice. “Yeah, let’s go.”

   Both Dean and Kubrick stare at him in surprise. Gordon looks like he’s seen an actual ghost—there’s a kind of awe and almost horror in his eyes that Dean doesn’t like. Cas is staring at Gordon, who’s slowly backing away. “Come on, man.”

   Later, when Dean asks Cas what he’d done to make Gordon Walker want to bolt like that, Cas just shakes his head, and smiles a little.

 

** 06. **

   There is—has always been—something about Cas’ eyes.

   Dean doesn’t mean that in a chick-flick kind of way. His childhood friend has these amazingly blue eyes that always seem to tell a story Dean cannot decipher. They look old, somehow, and yet he remembers them looking exactly the same back when they were four years old.

   “I apologize,” says Cas.

   “What for?”

   “Not… being here, sooner.”

   He sighs. “It’s cool, Cas. Not like you coulda stopped anyone from—y’know, having an opinion.”

   “Dean,” Cas says, in that serious voice of his. “You are a good person. You do deserve to be saved.”

   Dean huffs a laugh that holds no humour. “Yeah, well, apparently the Big Man Upstairs begs to differ.”

   He can feel those old eyes resting on his face and refuses to look up. “You’re wrong,” says Cas quietly.

   He thinks of his father’s accusations, and Sam’s big eyes. He wishes Sam wouldn’t have to deal with their dysfunctional family; the kid’s only thirteen and he’s smart as fuck and has an angel, he should be able to do anything he wants. Instead, he’s stuck with an angry dad and a worthless older brother who will never be able to provide him anything, because people like Dean are widely distrusted.

   “I don’t have an Angel, Cas,” he finally says. It should be pretty clear, anyway, or he wouldn’t have needed to be saved out of that situation with Gordon and Kubrick—hell, he would never even have been in it. And people always seem to know somehow.

   It’s not like normal people have their Angels trailing behind them at all times. Dean’s not sure what it is they do all the time (he refuses to even ask about it, dammit), but he’s pretty sure Sam just calls Jess when he needs her, or she comes to his aid when she feels it’s needed.

   Dean thinks he would’ve liked Jess, had it not been for the golden wings sprouting from her small form.

   “I know,” says Cas.

   “How?” Dean asks bitterly.

   “I cannot explain it to you right now.”

   “Right. Whatever.”

 

** 07. **

   Cas stays around.

   Dean isn’t sure why—nobody ever does—but when he leaves school the next Monday, Cas is waiting outside with a small smile on his face. There’s questions burning on Dean’s tongue, but he refuses to let them out and fuck this up.

   They don’t talk about the fact that Dean doesn’t have an Angel. He hasn’t seen Cas’s, either, but that isn’t saying much. Dean’s met people who don’t want to have anything to do with him, much less show him who their Guardian Angel is—they probably think he would kill them in jealousy.

   “You look surprised.”

   “Hadn’t been expecting to see you here.”

   Cas looks at him in that stupid sad way Dean doesn’t like. “Would you mind if I walked home with you?”

   Dean snorts. “You gonna protect me from the big bad bullies?”

   “I will, should it come to that, but that is not why I’d like to walk with you.”

   “Sure,” says Dean. “Alright.”

   Both of them are quiet for a while as they walk down the street. It’s a thirty-minute walk home, and sometimes Dean wishes he were allowed to take the car. He turned seventeen not too long ago, he should’ve been driving for a year already, but John takes their ’67 Impala with him for several days each time he leaves, and when he’s home he refuses to let Dean drive it. “You’d only end up crashing it against a tree,” was what he’d said the one time Dean had the guts to ask, and Dean had known his father wasn’t referring to his son’s lack of driving experience.

   He's still angry about it.

   “How have you been?” Cas asks after a few minutes.

   “Peachy.”

   Cas sighs.

   “Sorry,” Dean says. “I’ve been crap. You know that.”

   He hasn’t seen Cas for about twelve years, but anyone with brains would know Dean’s life can’t have been easy. He tries not to be one of those self-pitying, ‘why-me?’ type of people about it. Mostly he just hates himself.

   “Yes,” Cas agrees, because he does know. He looks like he wants to say more, but Dean is faster. “How ‘bout you, man? What have you been up to?”

   The dark-haired boy grimaces. “I ran into some family trouble.”

   Dean looks up at that. He’s never heard Cas talk about his family before, not even when they were four and Cas hung around the Winchester home all the time. Looking back, that should have been slightly worrisome—but Cas is here and healthy, at least.

   “What kind of trouble?” he asks when Cas doesn’t elaborate.

   “The kind where people argue about possibilities, and the only one who could settle the argument is, as you would say, ‘missing in action’.” He sounds bitter about it. Dean has no idea what to say, because he’s not sure what such a kind of argument is supposed to be—it’s just too abstract to be of any help imagining the situation.

   “I don’t like to talk about it,” Cas adds.

   “Yeah,” says Dean. “Alright.”

 

** 08. **

   Sam has never met Cas, not really. So when Dean invites his friend in after a few more days of this walking home business, the younger Winchester is somewhat suspicious. Dean knows he shouldn’t blame his brother, but he does a little anyway. Despite everything, he’s not incapable of taking care of himself.

   “So how do you know Dean again?” Sam asks, narrowing his eyes.

   “We used to be friends. You were only a baby, then.”

   “And that conveniently ended around Dean’s fifth birthday.”

   Dean sighs. “He didn’t leave, Sammy, we did.” Or rather, Dad did—left his kids with his old friend Bobby Singer and only came to check up on them every once in a while, until he deemed them old enough to be dragged along with him.

   “Oh,” Sam says.

   “I apologize for not having been there after the fire,” Cas tells him. “I would have, had I been able to.” He looks sincere, and even though Sam purses his lips, Dean thinks he believes him.

   “What are you doing here now, anyway?”

   “I moved.”

   “And it just so happened you moved to the same place we’ve been living for a while.”

   “Yes.” There’s a smile tugging at the corners of Cas’s mouth. It makes Dean frown. He’d told himself it’s just a happy accident—the Winchesters have lived in so many places, it’s not that much of a stretch to run into someone from their past.

   “You hurt him, I’ll be sending Jess after you.”

   “Sammy, I’m the older brother, I’m supposed to give the death threat talk.”

   Cas asks Dean later why it is Sam Winchester doesn’t trust him, and Dean shrugs and says it’s probably the Angel-less thing, as if it’s no big deal to him. “I understand,” Cas says. “Still I wish for him to know I mean you no harm.”

   “I wish for him to know he shouldn’t be worrying about me, but we can’t have all that we want.”

   Cas lays his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and it’s such a strangely intimate gesture from someone he hasn’t seen for so long Dean forgets to flinch away. “There is nothing wrong with people worrying about you. Besides, you cannot decide what other people do. We will not stop caring.”

   Dean tries not to think of all the comments that have been thrown his way that beg to differ.

 

** 09. **

   It wouldn’t have been so bad had it not been for Sam and Jess watching. Dean can handle this, really, he’s used to it. He just wishes his little brother would be spared seeing just how broken their family really is.

   It’s not like John Winchester is home very often to begin with, which explains the state the house is in. Dean tries to keep up maintenance a little, but he’s got school, and he’s gotta pick up Sammy, and work the— well, work, to be able to pay for Sam’s new clothes and food for the both of them, when Dad doesn’t leave them enough to go with. Dean doesn’t know what John actually does all the times he’s gone, but either it doesn’t pay very well or the man drinks it all away. Dean’s inclined to believe the latter.

   “Pathetic,” John says, with a slur in his voice that all but proves Dean’s judgement. The man slumps down into his favourite chair, which is falling apart like everything else in the house. “Pathetic,” he repeats as he turns on the television.

   “I’m sorry,” Dean says quietly.

   “You don’t get to have friends, Dean.” John’s not even looking at him, just staring unseeingly at the screen. “You don’t get to have an Angel, you don’t get to have friends.”

   He looks down at his worn shoes, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arms. His wrists will be bruised again tomorrow. “I know.”

   “You want your new _friend_ ,” John scoffs at the word, “to end up the way your mother did?”

   “No, sir.”

   “Get me a beer.”

   “Um,” says Dean, because they barely have food in the house, let alone alcohol. He tries not to flinch when John’s head swirls around to look at him.

   “Dad.” Sam’s walking into the room, Jess tagging along, and Dean closes his eyes and wishes him away. “There’s no beer.” He looks angry. “There’s no beer, because there’s no _money_.”

   “What did you do with the money I left you?” John’s still looking at Dean, who’s still not looking at him.

   “We had to eat,” Sam says coolly.

   John throws his hands up in surrender, but he still looks angry. Dean has a feeling his Dad’s not done yet.

   Dad’s Angel should be keeping him from drinking, not Dean or Sam or a lack of money. It’s quite ironic how much shit John gives Dean about not having an Angel when he keeps his own at bay, never reaching out even in dire situations, because he likes his drink better than he likes safety, apparently. (Dean’s been told before that he should be able to deal with fights on his own, because “that’s what real men do”. He doesn’t think his father deals with his internal nor social fights very well.) But John has the comfort of knowing he has an Angel. Dean guesses that helps. He wouldn’t know.

   It’s then that the doorbell rings. John doesn’t get up, and Sam doesn’t move to get it, either—probably not very keen on leaving his worthless older brother alone with their worthless dad.

   Dean goes to get it.

   “Cas?”

   “Hello, Dean.” Cas smiles. “Would you like to go out for lunch?”

   “Can’t.” He thinks of Dad sitting inside, and his words from earlier. Dean isn’t deserving of a friend like Cas, even if they’re still only catching up. That makes it better to stop here, anyway. Easier.

   “You don’t have to,” says Cas, not at all looking deterred. “But do know you do deserve good things.”

   “Yeah,” says Dean, “you’ve said that.”

   “Remember it.”

   He leaves Castiel at the door only to return to nearly the same scene he’d left. John is slumped in the chair, his eyes closed—he looks much calmer when he’s passed out. (The passing out is probably a combination of the alcohol his father imbibed before arriving home, and Jess working her magic. Dean is grateful for it.) Sam is still looking angrily at their dad, but he’s gone to sit down on the couch. He looks tired. Dean can’t stand it.

   “That your friend, Dean?” Jess asks with a twinkle in her eyes. “At the door?”

   Dean shrugs. Sam looks up. “You should go hang out with Cas,” he says.

   “But—”

   “Jess and I’ll be fine. My door has a lock.” The kid looks grim. “Dean… don’t let Dad ruin this for you, okay?”

   “I gotta—”

   “You gotta take care of yourself,” Jess says. “I’ll keep an eye on the kid.” (Sam doesn’t even protest at being called that, just frowns a little deeper.) “It is my job.”

   _And mine,_ Dean thinks. What does he get to be if he’s not allowed to take care of Sam?

   “Please,” she says. “We worry about you.”

   “I’ll call if anything happens,” Sam promises.

   “Fine,” says Dean, because he’s clearly being outvoted. He should know when he’s not needed by now.

   He leaves the room with the view of John passed out in the chair in the back of his mind, and the heavy feeling of the world crushing his shoulders. Cas is no longer at the door. Dean goes outside anyway.

   He tries to ignore it when the weight on his shoulders becomes a little more bearable as he notices Cas is still there, reading a book on a bench further down the road and looking up at him as though he’d known Dean would come around.

   It doesn’t mean anything.

 

** 10. **

   Dean doesn’t blame his father for hating the entire world.

   Mary shouldn’t have died in that fire. She was the most amazing woman in the world, she had a loving family, and an Angel who should have saved her. Accidents still happened, they were on the news regularly, but no one thought it could happen to them.

   Sam said Angels were moral guides, more than anything. Dean pointed out that there were still people committing horrid crimes and losing their Angels because of it, and argued it was a useless system.

   Dean isn’t sure whether things would’ve been better or worse if he did have an Angel. Maybe if he did, his father wouldn’t be convinced it was somehow Dean’s fault.

   Maybe it was. There has to be a reason he didn’t get an Angel.

   Either way, he can’t blame John. His Dad’s torn between blaming himself, blaming Dean, and blaming the Angel who was supposed to protect his wife. He lost the love of his life, and then his oldest son ended up Angel-less, useless.

   “Your father is not blameless.”

   “How do you do that?” Dean snaps. “Read my mind.”

   “I don’t,” Cas says in that frustratingly calm voice of his. “I find it quite easy to understand your thinking.”

   “That’s creepy,” Dean tells him.

   “I apologize.”

   Dean just stares at his friend. There’s something about Cas that he’s still not managed to figure out, and it’s endlessly annoying. Dean likes to have people figured out—it’s a valuable skill for someone like him, who doesn’t have anyone to whisper in his ear what he needs to know.

   He has the strange urge to ask Cas who he really is, which makes no sense at all. Except, he doesn’t really know anything about the guy. Dean’s never met his family; hell, Cas has never even spoken to him about them save for that time he mentioned falling out with them.

   He wants to ask, but the words get stuck in his throat and all he manages to force out is, “Okay.”

 

** 11. **

   Dean isn’t sure when it happens. Maybe it’s the moment he’s struck with the realization Cas is really sticking around, weeks after their reunion. The time Cas enters the school like he belongs there, on Sam’s birthday, bring him burgers after also having brought some to Sam. All the walks home and Cas’s small treats to them, and the way Cas pretends not to know how Dean earns the money for the much needed groceries. Dean’s falling slowly, without even really noticing it, until one day, when Cas meets John head-on for the first time in over a decade, it becomes crystal clear.

   He’s not afraid of John not liking Cas. He already knows John won’t like Cas. John doesn’t really like anyone, and only the people who feel obliged—that is to say, Dean—like him.

   In fact, the realization has very little to do with any kind of nerves. It has to do with the way Cas holds himself in the (angry) face of John Winchester: standing up straight and serious, but not in the way Dean has learnt to do himself. Cas is standing far more independently from John’s opinions, strong and not about to back down.

   Dean feels a strange sort of awe at the sight of him, which is sort of disturbing. It’s not that he’s afraid to stand up to people himself; he tries to hold his own against Gordon and Kubrick, which usually he can, and against Alastair, the sadistic asshole, even if it might well be the end of him someday.

   He supposes it must be easy to suppress Angel Radio.

   Either way, he can’t do it with John, not with the easy confidence that Cas exudes. And he hates that this is a thing that strikes him as good, because that’s his Dad he’s talking about.

   Yet still, looking at Cas like that and hearing him say that yes, he is “Dean’s friend”, Dean thinks that maybe there might be something in him that’s worth something.

 

** 12. **

   Dean’s life doesn’t suddenly become better after that. He still has to deal with people like Gordon and Kubrick, and Alastair. His Dad still looks at him with contempt, and random people on the street still shoot him looks that tell him they know something’s different about him. As for Dean himself, he’s still not convinced they’re all entirely wrong.

   The one difference is that, whenever Cas is around, he gets to kid himself into believing they are.

   Spring eases into summer this way, when Dean gets his much-needed two-month break from high school, and he spends it with Cas and Sam in what Cas claims to be his family’s summer home, a cabin about a two hour drive away from where they live. There’s very few people around, but there’s a lake, and woods, and they spend the days doing very little at all.

   Dean teaches Cas fishing. Cas doesn’t seem to really grasp the fun of it, but he does admit it is quite relaxing.

   Sam lies outside and reads a lot, and Dean feels kinda bad because Sam does have his own friends at home, but he couldn’t leave the kid alone in the house and they never really know when John will return from his trips. Besides, the cabin is stocked with food, even if it’s nearly all non-perishables.

   The younger Winchester says he doesn’t mind, though, because it’s a nice place and he likes Cas, too.

   They don’t talk about what could happen when John comes home and finds both his sons gone, although they all must know he’d pin it on Dean. But Dean’s convinced them he doesn’t care, even if he does, because this means he gets to have several weeks free from that frustrating stigma that’s following him around even in their own house, and maybe that’s worth it.

   So he makes Cas drive to the store (because the guy appears to have a car, too, which on the drive to the cabin Dean was convinced would fall apart around them—a rattling, ugly-ass golden Continental) to get some fresh groceries and ingredients for apple pie, and feels bad right away because they’ve been living off Cas for a few weeks already.

   Cas assures him it’s no bother. Dean tries to believe him.

   So that evening, Dean makes the three of them burgers, because he likes them and he’s good at it, and he wants to do something back. And after, he and Cas spend a good part of the night baking pie, which Dean hasn’t done in years and makes him think of his mother. By the time they put it in the oven, the entire kitchen is covered in flour.

   “Let’s leave it for tomorrow,” Dean mutters.

   “But we have to wait for the pie to finish,” Cas points out. “We might as well make good use of that time.”

   Dean’s tired, though. He doesn’t think he can even get up from the couch they’re sitting on anymore right now, and his eyes are drooping. “Tomorrow,” he repeats.

   “Okay,” Cas says.

   If Dean wasn’t so tired, he never would’ve done what he does next. As it is, he lowers his head on his friend’s shoulder and closes his eyes, hardly noticing the slight stiffening of Cas’ posture, and dozes off.

   He wakes forty minutes later, to the sound of the oven beeping and Cas moving away slowly, and swears to himself no one will ever know about it.

 

** 13. **

   John isn’t there when they finally return by the end of August, and Dean feels bad for how relieved he is. There’s not even any evidence their father has been in the house at all during the summer, but that isn’t a guarantee; the only thing John does at home is drink and curse at how his life has played out, and empty bottles are easy to clean up.

   Their father wouldn’t leave a mess in their absence. He would leave his anger for when they’re back.

   Dean doesn’t regret accepting Cas’s invitation, but he does return to the house with a heavy heart. Sam and Cas can both tell, judging by the looks they give Dean and each other, but he ignores them.

   Sam goes to put his stuff away in his own room upstairs. Cas stays awkwardly standing in the living room.

   “Will you be alright?”

   Dean thinks of the new school year looming over him, and of the possibility of John returning any moment. The worry for money has started nagging in the back of his mind again already, because he just can’t keep expecting Cas to help them out like he did the whole summer, with the excuse that “you are my guests, Dean”. Besides, Dean would feel terrible, taking even more without being able to give anything back.

   Pride doesn’t make his wallet any less empty, though, and there’s a voice in his head screaming at him for not thinking of this earlier, for not making any money over the summer.

   His stomach turns and he can feel himself growing paler.

   “Yeah,” he finally manages to croak out. “Yeah, I’m good.”

   “Okay,” Cas says, nodding. “I will leave for now, then.” He doesn’t say it like he’s really keen on leaving, and Dean doesn’t really want him to, but neither of them says so. “Text me,” Cas adds, and it sounds so strange, so (dare he think it?) _cute_ , coming from him, Dean has to suppress the fluttering in his stomach.

   The moment the sound of that terrible car’s motor starts up, Dean starts missing his friend.

 

** 14 **

   The new school year rolls around, and just like every year, Dean’s meagre hopes of anything being better than they have been all the previous years are squashed within the first few hours. His senior year doesn’t start any differently from any other. No one picks a direct fight with him at the school itself, but there are still whispers and glares and the fact that Dean is entirely alone, because Cas doesn’t go to this school and Sam won’t until next year.

   After spending an entire summer in the company of the two people who actually like him, Dean’s none too happy about it.

   He’s gotten spoiled in the past weeks. He can handle high school—he’ll be done after this. He’s not going to college, he isn’t getting a respectable job anyway. The only reason he hasn’t dropped out and gotten his GED yet is because he doesn’t want to disappoint Sam. Despite everything, he’s always been the most Sam has in terms of a family, and he’s gonna try to set the best example he can in the shitty situation he’s ended up in.

   He’s trying, dammit.

   “Dean, Dean, Dean. I thought we’d agreed on something.”

   He’s got to remind himself that he’s trying. Alastair’s both his best and his worst client—he pays well, but it’s for a reason.

   “Please,” Dean whispers hoarsely. It never takes much effort to sound convincing with Alastair. He’s not sure how he should feel about that, so he tries not to feel at all. “Please, don’t—”

   The knife slides over his side, never breaking the skin but always putting on enough pressure for Dean to believe it might. He has no doubt Alastair could kill him if he felt like it, sadistic bastard that he is. Dean sometimes wonders if he has an Angel, or whether they left long ago. Why they never stop him.

   “The funny thing is,” Alastair drawls, dragging his knife down to where Dean really doesn’t want it to be, “I think you’re enjoying it, don’t you?”

   The answer is no, _absolutely not_.

   He lets out a long, drawn-out moan instead.

*

“You’re hurt.”

   “I’m fine.”

   “Dean…”

   “Cas. I said I’m fine. Leave it, will ya?”

   Castiel purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything. It’s a relief. The last thing Dean wants right now is to explain why there’s a cut running along his ribs. He’d rather use the pathetically bad excuse of having falling down the stairs, and hope Sam will believe it happened while the kid was asleep.

   “Stop looking at me like that,” Dean snaps after a minute.

   “Alright.”

   Sometimes he wishes he could get Cas to look hurt. Or to be angry. Dean’ll take either, as long as it allows him to pick a fight—as long as it lets him be the one to hurt rather than be hurt. But Cas never gives him that, and he should be grateful, but he’s not.

   “I brought Chinese takeout,” Cas says after a painfully quiet moment, uselessly holding up a plastic bag.

   “Right.” Goddammit, as though he could stay angry at Cas, at this guy who comes over unannounced with cheap food with the risk of having to face John Winchester for no other reason than because he seems to want to.

   He steps aside to let Cas in, closes the door, and yells at Sam to get his ass downstairs. “Go pick a movie,” he tells his brother a tad too brusquely when he does.

   Sam pulls a face at him, but seems to decide whatever he’s thinking isn’t worth shouting at Dean right now, because he turns on his heels and moves toward the DVD shelf. Dean gets them some utensils from the kitchen before the two of them follow Sam.

   “Lord of the Rings,” Sam says. “Because Cas has never seen it before.” It’s like he’s challenging Dean to disagree with his choice of movie, although Dean secretly likes Lord of the Rings.

   “That so?” he asks no one in particular. “Guess we need to fix that. Life without Sméagol is incomplete, Cas.” He sits back on the couch, opens a container, and waits for Sam to press ‘play’, but when he does, Dean can’t concentrate on the movie at all. He’s seen it plenty of times, anyway; he’s more mesmerized by the scene around him. Sam in Dad’s comfortable chair, Cas next to him on the couch, completely taken by Frodo’s adventures. It’s not the first time they’re having a movie night—Cas also admitted once that he hadn’t seen Star Wars _nor_ Indiana Jones, so Dean had decided to take the guy’s pop culture education in his own hands and make him sit through a Harrison Ford marathon—but they haven’t done it often, and it still strikes him how domestic they look.

   How well Cas fits into their messed up little family.

   “Dean,” Cas says without taking his eyes off the screen. “Just watch the movie.”

   “Shut up.”

   The guy smirks, but doesn’t say anything, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s forgiven for his outburst earlier. He’s got no clue what he’s done to deserve Cas, but he’s going to relish in the peace it makes him feel.

  
   On screen, Gandalf dies, but the Fellowship gets away from the demon. In the living room, Dean watches Castiel’s frown and dares to let the word _adorable_ flash through his mind, just for a second.

 

** 15. **

   Movie night becomes a regular thing.

   They settle on Monday evening, which seems an arbitrary choice—especially with Dean and Sam attending school, while Cas does god-knows-what during the days; Dean has been unable to find out. But the streets are busy during weekends, especially after long work weeks on Friday nights, and Dean doesn’t want to skip out on that. Having movie nights on Mondays gives him something to get through those days.

   If anyone finds the excuses he comes up with to hide this reasoning suspicious, they don’t mention it.

   John is still barely ever at home, but Cas seems to know when he is, because Dean has no way to let him know—he doesn’t exactly have money for a fancy cell phone—but he conveniently doesn’t show up. Dean assumes he sees Dad’s car in the driveway and just turns around. He never asks. John’s alright, though. Dean would almost call him _pleasant_ (almost), and he leaves enough money for them to go on for a while. Dean just wishes he didn’t have to. Despite everything, the man’s still his Dad, and he wants him to stay.

   Dad’s doing the best he can, is what he tells himself time and time again. Sure, it’d be better if he actually stayed, but they’re doing okay, aren’t they?

   “Have you ever had a girlfriend, Cas?” Sam suddenly asks, seconds after Leia tells Han she loves him.

   “No,” Cas says, sounding surprised but mostly amused at the question. “I don’t think girlfriends are for me, Sam.”

   “A boyfriend, then,” Sam amends without any changes to his tone.

   Dean nearly chokes on his drink. His brother throws him a bitch-face.

   “Not a boyfriend, either,” says Cas, no less amused. “You could say I am asexual.”

   “You’re what now?” Dean says.

   “I prefer not to have sex with any human,” Cas explains. “It is not in my nature.”

   “So?” Sam raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with having a girlfriend _or_ a boyfriend?”

   “People want sex, Sam,” Dean says flatly.

   “I’m sure people can find a way.”

   There’s something in the way he says it that makes Dean uneasy. Sam doesn’t _know_ , though. He doesn’t understand the world the way Dean does. There’s a reason he can make a fair amount of money doing what he does, and it ain’t got to do with the goodness of people’s hearts. Not everyone’s like the two people sitting in the room with him right now.

*

   Cas brings takeout with him each time and refuses to let Dean pay for it. Once, he even attempts to cook them a healthy meal with fresh vegetables, but it doesn’t taste as good as it probably should. Dean deduces Cas doesn’t cook a lot. Sam seems to like it anyway, if only because he’s a health freak even at his age. Dean guesses it’s a result of being broke all the time.

   He himself isn’t quite sure if he appreciates what Cas is clearly trying to do here, but he can’t deny it does help having at least one meal taken care of. It hurts his pride, though. But they don’t mention or even acknowledge it, and as long as that's how it works, Dean figures he can deal.

   Over the course of a few weeks, they make their way through the Winchesters’ DVD collection. Lord of the Rings, Dirty Dancing (which Dean grumbles about until Sam points out it was Dean who got it even though he’s always pretended he didn’t—“It’s _Swayze_ , alright?”), Silence of the Lambs (“It’s not that scary, Sam, it’s cool”), a variety of superhero movies (Dean’s pick) and chick flicks (clearly Sam’s), and even, on one memorable occasion, _Harry Potter_.

   Dean’s already seen all of these movies (even the chick flicks, though he’ll never admit it out loud), so he tends to watch Cas watching them instead. Subtly, of course. Or so he likes to think.

   He doesn’t get to see Cas let down his stoic mask all that often. It happened a few times over the summer, but even then it seemed to surprise the guy as much as it did Dean. It’s still weird, but in a good way: the tilt of his head when he’s confused; the puppy look in his eyes when he sees something sad or particularly endearing; the small frown at very violent or sexual scenes. The nose crinkles he gets when he smiles.

   Looking back, Dean doesn’t know why it took so long to hit him, but when it does, it does so like a friggin’ freight train.

   _He’s in love with Cas._

 

** 16. **

   On November 2nd, Dad comes home again and drinks himself stupid. Because it’s not like the day isn’t hard on Dean anyway.

   Still, he doesn’t exactly blame the guy. Sam does, he doesn’t need his scowling face and the cutting words to their father to know that, but Sam doesn’t remember their Mom. Dean doesn’t even remember most of her. He remembers her singing _Hey Jude_ to him when he couldn’t sleep and baking the best apple pie ever, but he can’t remember the look on her face while she sang or the taste of the pie aside from the generic ‘apple pie’ taste. He only really knows her face from the few photographs they have, anyway.

   “We’ll clean up,” Jess says before Dean can start doing exactly that.

   “Jess, no, I—”

   “—Need a break,” she finishes his sentence. “You can’t keep sacrificing yourself. You can trust me with Sam, you know.”

   Sam makes an impatient sound.

   “You can trust _Sam_ ,” Jess amends.

   “I do,” Dean says. “Trust you. It’s just…” He shoots a look at his father. Jess nods.

   “I know. And I know you don’t have faith in Angels, but your father cannot touch me, and I will not let him touch Sam.” It sounds strange, coming from the mouth of a short, slim figure like her own when the man she’s talking about is tall and broad-shouldered and could probably take her out with one blow were she human.

   “If anything happens,” Dean says. “ _Anything_. I want you to contact me.”

   “I know.”

   He’s being selfish and he knows it, but he really doesn’t want to be at this place right now. He wants—well, dammit, he wants to be with Cas, but even after all this time he’s got no clue where the guy lives. Maybe it’s time to invest in a cell phone—surely there’s cheap ones that he could afford somehow.

   He decides on a walk instead to clear his mind. It’s days like this that make him get his Dad a bit better, no matter how much he doesn’t want to.

   “Hello, Dean.”

   “Jesus Chri—don’t do that!” he tells Cas perhaps a bit too forcefully. “Wear a bell or something, fucking hell.” He drinks in the sight of Cas sitting on a bench in the park—in _November_ —and adds, “Whatcha doing here anyway?”

   “Contemplating,” Cas says, dead serious.

   “What, the weather?”

   “Among other things.”

   “Jesus Christ,” Dean says again. He hesitates for a moment, then gestures toward the bench and asks, “Can I sit?”

   “Of course.” He looks at Dean with that insanely intent stare he gets sometimes that never fails to make Dean feel slightly uncomfortable. “How are you feeling?”

   Dean snorts. “Whadd’ya think?” he asks, before realizing Cas probably has no idea what today means to him.

   “My apologies. I would have liked to be there for you. Afterwards,” he clarifies.

   “You were _four_ , Cas.”

   Cas smiles sadly. “I suppose, yes.” Before Dean can ask anything else, he adds, “I would like to take you somewhere.”

   He doesn’t know why he says it, just that he will probably never learn when to keep his mouth shut. “Aw, Cas, are you asking me out on a date?”

   “If that is what you wish it to be,” Cas says, without any inflection in his tone that should tell Dean whether or not _he_ wants it to. He’ll take that as a no, then.

   When Dean doesn’t answer, Cas says, “We can take my car.”

   It’s the ugly-ass golden Continental he'd used to drive to the cabin that summer, which Dean tries not to insult even playfully. He thinks Cas might’ve guessed his thoughts anyway, because he’s _got_ to be actively trying to kill them with the way he drives. Nobody drives this bad. Not sober.

   That train of thought is almost ironic when Cas pulls up in front of a bar called The Roadhouse. “Really?”

   “I think you will like it,” is all Cas says.  

   There’s a girl behind the bar who doesn’t look like she should be allowed there for another few years and who immediately calls Cas’ name like he’s a regular. “Hi there, new guy,” she adds.

   “Dean,” says Dean.

   “Hi, Dean.” She smirks. “Sit down, guys, I’ll be with you in a sec.”

   There’s something familiar about her, except Dean’s sure he’s never met her before.

   They order cheese burgers, Cas with a cup of coffee, Dean with a beer (because today he deserves one, dammit). It doesn’t really take Dean’s mind of things, but he does have to admit these might be the best cheeseburgers he’s ever tasted, so that’s something.           

   His realization a while ago hasn’t really changed anything. Cas isn’t interested, anyway. Hell, he’s probably not even gay, or whatever it is that Dean is that he’s refused to think about ever since. Moments like these, though, at a small table in a diner in the middle of nowhere? Dean never wants them to stop.

   Cas looks at him with his head tilted the way he does when he’s confused (or when he feels a number of other emotions), and Dean realizes he’s staring again.

   “Dean.”

   He should look away, that much he knows. He should be panicking by now. He should’ve started panicking when the realization struck that he’s in love with a guy. He hasn’t, and he doesn’t.

   He doesn’t know what Cas is thinking, though, because a voice behind him suddenly says, “Dean Winchester.” It’s both an exclamation and a question.

   “Shit,” Dean says when he turns around to look at the source of the words. “Ellen?”

   Over a decade after Dean’s last seen her, his old neighbour hasn’t changed a bit. She should have, he thinks. Dad became so much older over those years. Ellen Harvelle—she looks tougher, maybe, but she hasn’t aged the same way John Winchester has.

   “Boy, I never thought I’d see you again, your daddy just picked up you and your brother and left without a word.” She shakes her head. “Then again, never thought I’d see your old buddy Cas here again, either.”

   Cas smiles.

   “Shit,” Dean says again, because of course both Ellen and Cas knew. Not that Cas visited the Harvelles often—he was Dean’s friend, first and foremost, and Jo was so little then…

   He looks around at the girl behind the bar, who’s making her way to them now. “Hey, Jo.”

   She scowls, undoubtedly because she’s got no idea what’s going on. He can’t help but smirk. It’s strange as hell to have so many people surrounding him that knew him _before_ , but there’s also something nice about it. It doesn’t in any way feel like old times, because too much time has passed and too much things have changed. But there’s _something_ there. He doesn’t even try to analyse it, but he knows the moment Ellen doesn’t even blink when he says he doesn’t have an angel.

   Cas is still smiling in the background. Dean’s pretty sure he could kiss him, if he were allowed.

****

** 17. **

   It’s not a surprise when shit hits the fan, because Dean knows he can’t have nice things for so long without things blowing up in his face. He just wishes it wasn’t so close to Christmas.

   It’s his own fault. There’s a reason he doesn’t walk the streets every night, and a reason he mostly sticks to the basics. His life might not be worth much, but he’s not dying on the streets, dammit. And it’s not like Sam expects any glamourous Christmas presents, but the kid needs a warmer coat, and Dean doesn’t know how much longer he can put off buying new shoes for himself, either, and he really wouldn’t say no to being able to put a nice, big meal on the table this once.

   And maybe he can give Cas something back for all he’s done, as well.

   Besides, it isn’t like he’s never gotten into clients’ cars before. He carries a knife in his boot, he’s not stupid. But something tells him it ain’t gonna be much use against Alastair.

   Alastair. What the fuck is he doing?

   Alastair is quiet the whole way, which just adds to the sense of foreboding Dean’s feeling. The man likes to talk, normally—to make Dean feel more insignificant than he already does. Gets a kick out of it, apparently. All he’s doing now is send creepy smirks Dean’s way every now and then as he refuses to tell where they’re going.

   Dean reminds himself the guy pays well. He can withstand one evening of pure humiliation—because it will be—if it gets him enough money to give Sam and Cas a nice Christmas.

   They pull up in front of a hotel that looks surprisingly classy for Dean’s line of work. He’d expected a run-down motel as usual, perhaps a ratty apartment because that’s what seems to fit Alastair. Normally, he gets told to be at a motel nearby the street he can usually be found on. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be this time—this is a guy who pays him significantly more than anyone else, after all. Of course he’s got money to pay for something better once he’s able to actually get Dean there.

   “Yes,” Alastair says, as though he can read Dean’s mind. “I’d advise you to be very quiet tonight. The law doesn’t take well to prostitution, does it?”

   It’s weird; normally Alastair _doesn’t_ like him to be quiet. He likes for Dean to beg and moan, and occasionally, degrade himself. Dean doesn’t like it when regulars deviate from the script, especially not when they’re paying for a room, even if it’s a pay-by-the-hour motel. This? This is terrifying.

   He gets out of the car and follows Alastair inside anyway. What choice does he have? If he does this, he doesn’t have to go as many nights this week as he otherwise would. The break and Christmas will be worth it. That’s what he keeps telling himself even as he strips down; even as he’s tied down with his hands on his back and his ass in the air; even as he can feel Alastair touching places he doesn’t want him to but always lets him because that’s what Dean is. He doesn’t need Alastair to make him say it to have the word resounding in his head all the time. _Whore_.

   Alastair takes his time. He always does. This time’s different, though. It’s in everything, from the location to the way Alastair bound his wrists and gagged his mouth so he can’t make any movement or sound that he’s normally required to, to the way Alastair talks to him.

   “You know, I’ve always felt an, _ah_ , connection with you,” the man drawls. He’s got that same awful knife with him as he did last time, even though he didn’t _actually_ use it then. But that might be different now, too. “I was lucky to find you, boy. Desperate, obedient.” He laughs. “And nobody cares about a boy without an angel now, do they?”

   That’s when he presses the tip of his knife into Dean’s shoulder blade. He screws his eyes shut and doesn’t scream. He might die here, he realizes, but he won’t give Alastair the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

   “So easy to play with, Dean. To mould. I could carve you into a whole new animal if I wanted, and you would thank me for it.” He presses the knife down harder. Dean’s jaw is already aching from how hard he’s clenching it. “We could make a good team, you know.”

   Dean would rather die.

   He thinks about Sam, and silently apologizes for his stupid decisions. And Cas— _Cas_. The only one who gave him the feeling of being wanted without being required to.

   “I would refrain from doing that, if I were you.”

   Dean’s pretty sure his heart actually stops for a moment right then and there, because he knows that voice, and the stilling of Alastair’s hand tells him he hasn’t hallucinated it. But it’s not possible. He isn’t supposed to know where Dean is, what he _does_. He isn’t supposed to see Dean like this, naked and broken and goddamn humiliated.

   “And tell me,” Alastair drawls, turning slightly away from Dean to look at the intruder. “Who are you to threaten me like that?”

   “Castiel,” is all Cas says, as though that should say enough.

   “Castiel,” Alastair repeats, focusing all his attention on him now and taking the knife with him. Dean pretends there aren’t tears springing into his eyes at it being carelessly removed like that. “Alright, _Castiel_. I’m interested. Why would someone risk their life—”

   Dean can’t see what’s going on, Alastair being turned away from him and everything happening behind his back (and doesn’t that add to his humiliation), but he can hear the calm in the man’s voice, as though he’s talking about the weather. _He’s killed people before._

   He feels more shocked than he should.

   “—for this?” Alastair continues, gesturing toward Dean. Dean can feel his friend’s eyes on him, just for a moment, but he’s sure in that single moment he might burst into flames. He’d almost welcome it.

   “Yes,” Cas says.

   Dean’s pretty sure his nerve endings are about to burn through.

   “I will give you one chance to leave him alone.” It’s quiet for a few seconds, then Cas adds, “It seems that is more than you would deserve. I advise you to take this chance.”

   “Or face the wrath of a teenager? I’ll take my chances.”

   “I’m glad.”

   Dean doesn’t even get the time to be confused about that. He just about has the time to close his eyes against a sudden, blinding light, only to open them again once it seems to be fading. Craning his neck, he’d swear he sees shadows on the wall of something that looks like wings. Bird’s wings, not the fairy wings that Jess has. Except that’s bullshit. Dean doesn’t know any bird that could produce shadows that big.

   And then the leather around his wrists is falling away like it’s disintegrating, and the bed is dipping next to him, and he does the only thing he can think of.

   He gets as far away from Cas as he can manage, pulls the blankets over himself, and gets rid of the gag in his mouth, all the while trying to keep the guy in sight. Alastair is gone. “Who the hell are you?”

   “Castiel.”

   “I know that,” Dean snaps. “ _What_ are you, then?”

   “I’m an Angel of the Lord.”

   “You don’t look like one.”

   “I am not a Cherub, Dean.”

   “I have no idea what that means.”

   Castiel sighs. “You are being deliberately difficult. Let me explain myself, please.”

   Dean doesn’t say anything.

   “Guardians are Cherubs,” Cas begins. “A low class of angels. They are the ones people know of, that get assigned to a human on their fifth birthday. The ones humans can call upon when they are in need.”

   “Stop fucking reminding me.”

   Cas looks at him with sad eyes. “Cherubs are not the only angels in existence,” he says quietly. “Seraphs. Archangels. There is a hierarchy in Heaven as much as there is on Earth. I’m a Seraph. I was assigned to you.”

   Dean’s not sure what the guy expects him to do or say to that, but it probably isn’t the laugh that he can’t help but let out. “Yeah, right. Thanks for trying to cheer me up, buddy, but I dunno if you’ve noticed—my life is shit. I ain’t got no angels watching over me.”

   “Your mother used to tell you differently.”

   “Yeah, because she had faith in angels that then didn’t save her.” He’s starting to get angry again. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean, huh, mister high-up angel? And don’t you _dare_ tell me ‘God works in mysterious ways’ or I _will_ hurt you.”

   “Mary was not supposed to die,” Cas says quietly. “That was not the plan for her. She would have survived, but been badly hurt.” He looks away. “She sent your parents’ angel to keep the fire away from your brother in the other room instead. By the time your father got Sam to you, there was nothing that could be done.”

   “What, they couldn’t just have zapped Sam out of there and come back for my Mom?”

   “That’s not how it works, Dean.” He’s moved closer, at some point, because when he reaches out he can take Dean’s hand. “I am truly sorry.”

   “You were there.”

   “I was there to get you and Sam out. That was my priority.”

   “I’m still calling bullshit.”

   Cas turns over Dean’s hand to where the bruises that have started to form on his wrist show more clearly. With a frown, he puts two fingers against the skin.

   Just like that, it looks like nothing ever happened.

   “What the fuck.”

   He doesn’t want to believe Cas. Believing that his friend is an actual angel—someone more important than all those Guardians… There’s a sense of betrayal there. _Where were you when all that shit went down after Mom died?_ He’d needed his friend, then. It had hurt when Dean thought they’d moved away from a four-year-old who had no choice but to stay in Lawrence. He doesn’t need it to hurt more.

   “I need you to leave.”

   “Dean—”

   “Where were you after Mom died, huh? Or all those goddamn years before you suddenly turned up again?” He laughs, but it’s humourless. “Guess Sam was right after all, that it wasn’t a coincidence.”

   “Please—”

   “I want you to go, Cas.”

   He looks pained. “I’ll be there if you call.”

   “I won’t.”

   “I will watch over you until you get home safe,” Cas says, and Dean figures that’s the best he’s going to get. It’s nice, in a way, even though he doesn’t want to admit that even to himself. “After that, I will be gone until you…”

   He doesn’t finish that sentence. Between that second and the next, he’s gone.

   “Sonovabitch.”

   It takes him a while to get dressed, mostly because he feels kinda dazed after the events of the night. Cas seems to have healed everything alongside the bruises, because where the cut should have been on his back he feels nothing, but his muscles are still sore from the terrible position he’s been in for god knows how long. He tries not to think about it.

   It’s a good thing he always makes Alastair pay ahead, or he would’ve gone through all of that for nothing—and would have had to walk home. He can afford a taxi now, and though it’s an expense he’d usually rather not make in favour of things they _actually_ need, he’s tired and he can’t really bring himself to care.

   His best friend is an angel.

   His parents were True Soulmates. They shared an Angel. No wonder Dad doesn’t allow the Angel in anymore. If Dean was angry—it must be nothing to what John feels.

   His best friend is an angel. Literally.

   _His_ Angel.

   “It’s bullshit,” Dean whispers, causing the taxi driver to shoot him a confused look. He says it again when he’s alone in his room, out loud. “It’s bullshit, Cas.”

   True to his word, Cas doesn’t answer.

 

** 18. **

   Christmas passes without much of a fuss. On Christmas Eve, Dean puts together a healthy salad and stuffs a few chicken breasts with cheap veggies. He’s not a huge fan of it, but Sam loves it, so it’s worth it anyway.

   On Christmas Day, John shows his face. He actually seems to make an effort, and so does Sam. Dean tries to look at him in a different light after the Soulmate revelation, but it’s not easy.

   Cas never shows, and Dean never makes him that great Christmas dinner. On Boxing Day, he and Sam eat Christmas Eve leftovers that Dean only fleetingly thinks would’ve otherwise gone to Cas on the right day.

   John stays for a few days, and he doesn’t drink himself to shit, but he’s not acting happy either. Dean doesn’t care. He’s holed up in his room the entire time, and only goes down for food because he’s afraid of the reactions he’ll get if he doesn’t.

   Here’s the thing: he loves Cas. He hasn’t forgotten that revelation. He might even be in love with him—but he refuses to recognize that as an actual option, seeing as he’s not sure what it’s like to be in love with anybody.

   Cas left him, all those years ago, when he was supposed to be Dean’s Angel. Sure, a bit of a different kind of Angel, but that couldn’t have been as bad as years without one have been. And then he came back and refused to let Dean know about it even when he knew about the things going on.

   But maybe Dean should let him explain.

   “Hey, Cas? You kinda implied that my parents were Soulmates there,” he says out loud, one day in January, as though he’s picking up after a lull in conversation, rather than after four weeks of radio silence. “I dunno if I ever told you this, when we—well, I was a kid. But they fought a lot, you know?” When he closes his eyes, he can still see the sad look in his mother’s eyes when he hugged her and told her he still loved her and it would be okay. It’s one of the few things he does remember from his childhood. “I dunno. Doesn’t seem like Soulmate material to me.”

   He genuinely doesn’t remember if he ever told Cas. He knows he hasn’t told anyone after the fire, because it seemed like a bad idea to sully his own parents’ relationship like that after such a terrible event.

   “Having a Soulmate does not mean one does not have to put any effort into their relationship. Even these relationships can break.”

   “Did theirs?”

   “Not truly, no.”

   He opens his eyes to look at Cas standing awkwardly in a corner, as though he isn’t sure he’s allowed to be there. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

   “That’s alright.” The Angel’s shoulders seem to relax a little. “I have done you wrong in not telling you the truth once I came back.”

   “Why’d you leave?”

   “I was called back to Heaven. When I said I was assigned to you I was… not entirely truthful.” He looks away. “You were supposed to get a regular Guardian, like everybody else. A Cherub. I was never supposed to be in the picture.”

   “But you were.”

   “I was… not on good terms with Heaven for a while. I was trying to learn more about humanity. From up close, not from afar. That is when we met. The night your mother died, I should not have been in your house. It could have given me away. But I remembered you and your brother, and that you weren’t old enough to be assigned an Angel yet. You have always had a beautiful soul, Dean. I could not have let it die.” He looks back at Dean, now, and there’s a sincerity in his eyes Dean’s sure not even the best actor could fake.

   “I was forced to come back after that. I stood trial. I was punished for disobedience. And you were never assigned the Angel you deserved.”

   “Cas… c’mere.”

   “Dean, everything that happened to you since that night… it’s on me.”

   “You don’t know that,” Dean says quietly. “Would they punish an innocent kid to indirectly punish you—for doing something good, at that? That was a rhetorical question. Please don’t answer that, I don’t wanna know if they would. Anyway, you came back, didn’t ya?”

   Cas sits down on the edge of Dean’s bed. “Yes. I had been watching you, after my… punishment. I was intrigued by how your soul never got tainted. And… I could not have let you gone through all that, by my fault, just to die at the hands of a few bullies. It would have been my fault still. So I came back.”

   “What’d Heaven think of that?”

   “They didn’t like it.”

   Dean laughs. He can’t help himself. It’s like a weight is lifted from his heart, despite how terrible it all sounds that Heaven would punish one of their own for saving somebody. “So I was a pity save?”

   “You were…” He’s fidgeting now, and it’s clear he’s not sure where to look, and Dean’s pretty sure an angel should not be acting like that at any time. “I watched you throughout your teenage years,” Cas finally says. “You have a beautiful soul, Dean, and you are an impressive person. The way you care about your brother. The love you still hold for Mary.”

   “The way I let anyone fuck me if they got me money to buy dinner the next day,” Dean adds bitterly. All that talk about him being a good person; it’s not real. He’s not sure who Cas has been watching all those years, but it’s not him.

   “Your actions do not define you. You acted with the right intentions.”

   “It doesn’t matter.”

   “Sometimes, that’s all that matters.”

   Dean doesn’t say he doesn’t believe him, but he’s sure Cas knows.

   “So what happens now? Y’know, with Heaven and all that.”

   “I might not be an angel much longer,” Cas says, deliberately not looking at Dean. “What I did with Alastair—I have broken the rules too many times before, and this time was worse. I sent him to Purgatory,” he admits sheepishly at seeing Dean’s questioning look. “He will not bother you again.”

   “Pur—Okay. Okay. Y’know what, I don’t wanna know. It’s not important. What about you, then?”

   “They will take away my powers. I will… not be able to protect you again.”

   “You’d leave?”

   “If you’d want me to.”

   Dean hesitates for a second, and it seems to put Cas off, because he looks a second away from leaving. That’s the cue Dean needs to grab his hand this time. “Cas, no. I’d like you to stay. If there’s not anywhere you’d rather go to, I mean.”

   “You still would not have an Angel.”

   “I’d rather have you.”

   Cas smiles.

 

** 19. **

   Dean first kisses Cas on a Thursday.

  It’s months after what happened with Alastair. In fact, it’s the day of Dean’s graduation ceremony, which is a whole miracle in itself. Cas has shown no signs of leaving. Neither have the Harvelles. Ellen’s even there with Bobby Singer the man John used to leave them with as kids who’s wearing a look on his face prouder than Dean has ever seen. John is with them, possibly under threat of force, when Dean gets to walk up the stage. Sam wears a stupidly proud grin on his face that makes Dean’s heart warm up, because that’s what he’s been doing it for all these years. Looking at Ellen and Cas, though, he realizes maybe it’s been good for himself as well.

   But none of that’s the point. Not right then, anyway.

   The point is Dean can see his best friend, the guy he’s had a crush on for what feels like forever, beaming at him for doing something Dean himself never expected to. That in the middle of all these uninterested or even hostile faces, his newfound family’s right there and Cas is the shining centre of it.

   He hardly hears anything that’s being said.

   He loves Cas. He’s known it for a while, but locking eyes with him in that crowd, there’s a kind of determination settling inside him. It’s in his strides when he walks through the mass of people to find his family, passing Gordon and Kubrick without even hearing their cutting words or noticing anything they might’ve tried.

   Later, he’ll feel guilty about ignoring Ellen and Sam completely, but now, awkwardly standing in front of his best friend, all he can say is, “Can I kiss you?”

   Cas stares at him in shock. Dean’s sure he’s gonna say no, that he just made a fool out of himself in front of everyone he cares about and plenty of people he doesn’t. What Cas says instead is, “Dean, I cannot give you—”

   “I don’t care. I mean—after everything?” He huffs a laugh.

   “You deserve to have good associations with sex,” Cas says, quietly enough that hopefully no one else hears it.

   “We’ll figure it out.”

   “Are you sure?”

   “Cas, c’mon, man.”

   “Alright.”

   “Alright?”

   “Yes, Dean.”

   So maybe he won’t ever have a dream job—unless Sam becomes a lawyer to help special cases like him, as he’s been talking about lately (although not in those words). And maybe his life will never be perfect. But there’ll be The Roadhouse, and there’ll be Sam and Jess, and Ellen and Jo.

   And there’s Cas.

   And they’ll figure it out.


End file.
